Jack was singing in the shower, a song – a language – that Ianto didn’t recognise, but it was an uplifting sound, and appreciated as such.  Of course, for all Ianto knew, the bouncy little ditty could have been a song about hordes dying horribly; they must have gone to their deaths quite cheerfully if it was.

Breakfast was relaxed, but Jack didn’t know Ianto’s name.  Ianto couldn’t prove that, but after a couple of tries to address Ianto directly and looking completely stumped, Jack gave up and started using unwelcome endearments.  In a bid to keep the stress levels down, Ianto, with gritted teeth, settled, although he couldn’t guarantee he’d like Jack much by the end of the day if it kept up.

By the time they reached the Plass, Jack had taken to calling him Rowan.  Who Rowan was, Ianto didn’t know and didn’t care: as a label it was preferable to honey, darling, sweetheart, sugar or (he shuddered to think of it) baby.  Rowan was a tree, Ianto mused, a beautiful tree, and Jack probably would shag anything.  His badly covered chuckle at the thought brought out Jack’s widest smile, and that certainly didn’t help to dispel the possibly-not-ridiculous mental pictures of Jack Harkness and knot holes.

…

No message from Catherine Cullen; Ianto was beginning to feel he’d misjudged that, and he started sifting through his list of prospective doctors once again.

Gwen was out, visiting the late Mr Fairlus’ house and assessing its suitability as an alien hostel, and Jack was up in his quarters, already dozing despite a full night’s sleep.  The Hub was too quiet, too hollow, a lonely, lonely place; however hard he tried to lift them, Ianto’s spirits dipped, rapidly and thoroughly.

Jack was hurtling toward the point where he was no longer Jack, and Ianto missed Owen.  If anyone had told Ianto a year ago that he would miss Owen this much he would have had them certified.  For his own perverted pleasure, he would have got Owen to sign the papers.

But Owen would have worked brilliantly and tirelessly to find an answer, and Jack would have been treated, healed, cured, made sane, whatever, however, Owen would have found a way.  Because that was Owen.

Ianto missed Owen.  Which led to missing Toshiko.  By then the downward spiral was out of control, with memories of Lisa and Suzie and everyone that Ianto had lost at Torchwood One, and everyone that Ianto had ever lost, full stop.

Hiding in Jack’s office, huddled in the captain’s chair, Ianto allowed himself a few private tears.  All he could afford.

He willed his heart to mend, and he reminded himself to move on.

…

“Ianto!”

“Hello, Eleth, how are you?”

“Happy.  Gwen said I could help.”

“Help with…?”

Eleth looked a bit baffled at that, so she gave Ianto a big smile and shrugged like a native.

“Help.  There are…things.  Gwen said.”

“I’ll have to have a word with Gwen,” Ianto joked, and he waved Eleth from her cell before escorting her into the body of the Hub.  “Okay…  How about…I teach you to make tea and coffee?”

“Yes.  I can make tea and coffee.”

“What did you do on your world?  Did you have a job?”

Ianto had asked the question before, but Eleth hadn’t ever quite managed to find the description of her work that she needed.  Now, she turned once again to the ever-present translator, and made some fresh searches, using her growing knowledge of the language.

“I was…” she said slowly as she teetered on finding what she needed,  “a mine.  Miner.  Yes, a miner.”

“A miner?” Ianto repeated, definitely caught by surprise.  “You worked in a pit?”

“A pit?”  Eleth’s face grew more determined as she returned to her research.  “Ah.  Pit.  No.  Not in a pit.  I found mines.”

“You mean…  Explosives.”  Eleth nodded.  “And was this with equipment?  Robotic devices?”

“With…”  Eleth held up her hands.

Ianto felt quite sick for a moment, and had a hard time resisting the urge to hug the diminutive figure to him.  She had escaped from a life of finding explosive devices with her bare hands, and—

“I’m sorry I ever suspected you of…”

“No, no, no.  Here you ask questions, but are always kind.  At home I would have been…hurt.  And dead.”

“I—”

Eleth reached out and took Ianto’s hand.

“Ianto is always kind.  Muffins and carrots and help and hope and…and…no more miner.”

“That’s right.  No more miner.  Tea and coffee will be a nice, safe change.”

“Yes!” Eleth agreed, looking around, everywhere at once.  “Where?”

Ianto showed her the facilities, and she approached the area with reverence, admiring the shiny coffee machine.

“No explosions,” she confirmed.

“Not now Owen’s gone,” Ianto responded, delighted to find that those particular memories weren’t painful at all.  He told Eleth anecdotes about Owen and his caffeinated disasters as he attempted to teach her the ropes, but it soon became clear that the machine, as per usual, was only going to work for Ianto.  Eleth learnt to make tea and hot chocolate instead, and proved to be a dab hand with a toasted sandwich.

…

It was mid-afternoon when Gwen, taking a break from pricing the necessary changes to Bruce’s house, was poring over CCTV images of the Plass.  She abruptly sat up in her seat.

“Ianto!”

Ianto’s first, unpleasant thought was John Hart, and he braced himself against his predicted anger.

“What is it?”

“I think that…” Gwen tapped on a figure on the screen, “is Doctor Cullen.”

Heart immediately pounding in anticipation, Ianto enlarged the image.

“You’re right, that is her.  Thank God for that, it’s her.”

“Shall I…?”  Gwen gestured toward Jack’s quarters.

“Don’t tell him yet.  And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to the doctor.  See if…”

His words broke into an excited smile, and Gwen’s response was equally as positive as she herded Ianto to the cog door.

“Don’t let her say no,” Gwen called after him as he disappeared into the lift, then rushed back to her desk to follow events as well as she could on the CCTV.

Eleth appeared at her elbow with a steaming mug.

“Chocolate,” the little alien announced, and Gwen thanked her profusely before risking a first sip.

“Oh.  That’s perfect,” Gwen complimented, quite honestly.  “Who’s a clever girl?”

“Me!”

Gwen tugged Eleth closer and, arm around her shoulders, they watched Ianto take a huge, figurative step forward for Torchwood Three.

…

“Doctor Cullen?”

The suspected doctor turned to Ianto, sweeping a sharp, assessing look over him.  Self-conscious of his scruffy hair, he was extraordinarily glad that his suit fitted.  And…nice tie.

“Mr Jones, I presume.”

They shook hands.  Ianto didn’t want to let go, he wanted to drag her inside and put her to work without losing any potentially vital seconds.  But kidnapping doctors from the Plass was not the done thing.  Even Jack would draw the line there.

“You should have called, I’d’ve met you.”

“I wanted to get a feel for the place.  See if I fancy living here.”

The soft Irish accent was barely discernible, but the doctor had an air of country-girl-in-the-city about her, which was daft, Ianto knew: she’d only returned from working in New York a couple of months previously.

“It’s a beautiful city.  Usually.  After the explosions…”

“I understand.”

Ianto hoped that wasn’t lip service.  It wasn’t entirely proper to ask directly, but…

“Do you?”

“Check the records regarding my father.  He was an army man during the troubles in Ireland.  I know all about having the world around you torn to pieces.”

“Sorry.”  Catherine accepted Ianto’s apology with a hmm.  “When you didn’t get in touch I thought you’d decided against us,” Ianto continued, attempting to get the conversation back onto the appropriate rails.

“I still haven’t made up my mind.  But you sounded as if you need help now, and I’m at a loose end, so…here I am.  Maybe temporarily, but I’ll do what I can for your captain.”

The relief that swept over Ianto’s face brought a sympathetic smile from the doctor.  There was so much that Ianto wanted to say, but his gratitude stuck in a throat constricted by emotion.  He offered Catherine his arm and, albeit with a look of bemusement, she accepted.  He led her to the invisible lift, and trusted Gwen’s timing.

Doctor Cullen – ‘Catherine, please.’ – was impressed and delighted by the mode of entrance, and any remaining ice was successfully broken.  She took to Gwen immediately, something that Ianto had rather counted on, and between them they gave her a swift guided tour, concentrating on the medical facilities.

“Owen used the autopsy room for everything,” Gwen explained as she showed Catherine the barely used medical bay.  “I think he just liked to be close to the rest of the team.  He couldn’t bear to miss anything.”

“I’ll be based down here,” Catherine told them as she studied the array of diagnostic apparatus.  “I think that’ll be easier for you, short term.”

Neither Gwen nor Ianto liked the ‘short term’, but a quickly exchanged glance kept them both quiet on the subject.

Eventually they arrived at the whole point of Catherine’s urgent appointment.

“I’ll fetch Jack,” Ianto said, experiencing a sudden burst of nerves.  “He may be…odd.  We never really know how he’ll react to anything nowadays.”

Catherine gave an encouraging nod, and Ianto rushed away.  She turned to Gwen.

“Perhaps I should meet Jack where he’d feel most comfortable.”

“At the moment, that would be bed, and hardly appropriate,” Gwen joked, but the smile quickly trembled into nothing.  “He never really slept before this happened.  Before whatever it is that’s gone wrong, went wrong.  I’m honestly…  Honestly, I’m scared.  If we lose Jack…”

“I’ll do my best,” Catherine said firmly, “and you won’t say things like that in Jack’s presence.  As far as you’re concerned this is a temporary aberration, and you’re looking forward to a full recovery.”

Gwen took a deep breath.

“Right.  I can do that.”  Another breath.  “I can do that.”  She nodded; the nod became a negative shake.  “I’m not sure I can do that.  He looks so lost sometimes, how can I lie and…”

“Pretend I outrank you and you’re following orders.”

“I am so desperate for something to be that simple, I’ll try it, I really will.”

Catherine stared hard at Gwen for a long moment.

“What are you on?”

“Prozac.”

“Ianto?”

“I don’t know.  Nothing, I think.  I don’t know.  Does the Prozac matter?”  Gwen asked anxiously.

“No,” Catherine reassured her.  “But, if I stay, we might take time to address the reason for it, if you’d like that.”

Gwen’s mouth opened and closed three times before words finally emerged.

“You’d listen?”

“I’m an insomniac.  Pick an evening, buy me a drink, and I’ll listen to anything.”

After touching on the darkness surrounding Jack, the light humour and the promise of exorcising some of her ghosts was precisely what Gwen needed; she squeezed the doctor’s arm, and ushered her back to Jack’s office.

…

Ianto sat on the edge of Jack’s bed and gradually nudged the dozing man awake, smiling affectionately as Jack groped for his hand, then raised it to his mouth for a kiss.  The feel-good was lost the second Jack opened his eyes.  He froze.  He obviously hadn’t been expecting to see Ianto.  He didn’t even seem to recognise Ianto.  There was distinct alarm in Jack’s eyes as Ianto’s hand was returned to its owner.

“Jack?”

The ‘who are you?’ that Ianto had dreaded didn’t emerge, but Jack’s wary expression remained fixed.

“Jack,” Jack repeated instead, as if reminding himself of who he presently was.  “Jack.”

“It’s me, Jack.  Ianto?  Ianto Jones?”

A further painful pause followed, before recognition snapped into place.

“Of course it’s you.  Who else would it be?  Ianto, yes.  Ianto Jones.”

Both the smile and the bonhomie seemed forced, and Ianto was left with an uncomfortable feeling that he was witnessing the next stage in the downward spiral of Jack’s ‘condition’.  So much for trying to write off Rowan as a ghost on the radar.

“Doctor Cullen is here.”  Ianto clung to ‘cheerful and oblivious to reality’ for a moment longer, hoping that his Jack would truly surface, but Jack’s expression rapidly deteriorated to bewilderment.

“I can’t do this,” he announced, wavering between anger and distress as he pushed Ianto out of the way and scrambled off the bed.  “None of this is right, and…”

“Jack, let me…”

“No.  No.  Listen to me—  What did you say your name was again?”

“Ianto Jones,” Ianto supplied, voice heavy with his own misery.

“Okay, Ianto Jones, I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m not about to play along with it.”

Ianto tried to catch Jack’s arm, wanting to calm him down before he met Catherine, but Jack struck his hands away and glared furiously at the imposition.

“Jack…  Captain…”

“No more of this.  I want—  I want to speak to Frances.”

Ianto’s inner panic surged; of all the things he didn’t want to deal with, this would have to be beyond the top of the list.

“We, umm…  We don’t have a Frances.”

“What?”

“We don’t have a Frances.”

“We don’t—”

Jack stuttered to a halt and stared at Ianto as if he were mad.  Mad and, once again, unknown.

“Ianto,” Jack was reminded.  “Ianto Jones.”

Jack seemed to flicker back and forth between now and then; he shifted uncomfortably.

“I know that.”

“Yes, of course you do.”

“Ianto Jones.  I know you, I remember you.  I remember—”  Jack did remember, Ianto could see that.  Unfortunately it didn’t look as if Jack remembering was a good thing.  “Yes, Mr Jones, I remember quite enough about you,” Jack said frigidly.  “Now: Frances.”

“Jack, please.”

“Where is she?  I need her, at least I know I can I trust her.”

Exactly when he needed to be at his most eloquent, Ianto couldn’t find the words.  The past remained a raw spot; he didn’t want to be the man who’d betrayed Jack in the most basic of ways, just to get his foot inside Torchwood Three’s door.  He didn’t want to have to prove his loyalty all over again.  He didn’t want to hurt Jack when he seemed so weak, so lost, and there seemed to be little other option.  More than anything, he didn’t want to have to tell this desperate man that the wife he adored was dead and decades gone.

“I’m sorry, Jack, she isn’t here.”

“If you won’t help, I’ll find her myself.”

“She isn’t…”

“Why should I believe a word you tell me?”

Shoving Ianto aside, Jack marched out of his quarters and onto the gangway, stopping in confusion and gripping the handrail as he gazed around the Hub.  Ianto followed quickly, but remained quite helpless.  As Jack studied his surroundings, Gwen and Catherine emerged from his office, and the moment Jack’s eyes met Gwen’s he heaved a relieved breath and a smile transformed his worried face.

“So, Mr Jones, she isn’t here?  As if she wouldn’t be here.”  Jack started toward Gwen at speed, clattering down the stairs, almost falling over his own feet in his urgency.  “Frances.”

Gwen looked to Ianto, puzzled at this latest turn; she accepted his gesture of defeat and went with the flow, accepting Jack into her arms as he hurried to embrace her.

“Jack?  Everything all right?”

“That man,” Jack growled into Gwen’s ear.  “What is he doing here?  He can’t be trusted.”

“What?  Who?  You mean Ianto?”

Jack pulled back to look into Gwen’s face, puzzled by her confusion.

“Yes.  Ianto.”

“I trust him with my life, Jack.  So do you.”  Jack’s fists twisted in the back of Gwen’s shirt, and she awkwardly tried to free herself.  “Jack…”

“I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry, he won’t…”

“Will you get off of me!” Gwen yelled, tearing herself away and backing off as Jack reached for her.  “This isn’t right!  Think.  Think!”

“Frances…”

“Gwen.  I’m Gwen.  Gwen Cooper.  Gwen Williams.  Think now.”

Jack tried to think, but he was still caught between the past and the present, and his eyes filled as uncertainty once again overwhelmed him.

“Please, Frances, I’m so frightened, I don’t know what’s happening.  This is wrong, everything is wrong.”

Gwen glanced toward Ianto, a blatant plea for help in the wake of Jack’s heart-rending appeal.  Racing down the stairs and to Jack’s side, Ianto was forced to snatch back his hand before it could automatically touch his partner.

“Let us help you,” Ianto pleaded.  “Don’t be afraid, we just want to…”

“Why should I listen to you?  How can I trust you?”

“Why can’t you?  Ianto—”  Gwen started and stopped, seeing the distress on Ianto’s face.  “He does remember something then,” she said sympathetically.

Ianto nodded, feeling his disgrace as if it were yesterday.

“You know what he did,” Jack confirmed with Gwen, before turning back to Ianto.  “And you…  You told me Frances wasn’t here.”

“She isn’t,” Ianto said quietly.

“I want nothing more from you.  Get out of here.  You’ve betrayed me and…”

“Those were exceptional circumstances,” Gwen suddenly hollered at Jack before Ianto could say a word.  “Don’t you bloody-well dare go there!”

“Frances!  This man…”

“Acted out of desperation, and you forgave him.  We all forgave him.”

“No,” Jack stubbornly insisted.  “I couldn’t do that.”

“Well, you did.  If you trust me rather than him, you’ll have to believe me.  We forgave him.  You forgave him.”

Jack was already shaking his head.

“How could any of us…”

“Because he—  When we got over the shock we understood.  He’s one of the most loyal men you’ll ever meet, and we didn’t have first claim to that loyalty.  Once the danger had passed we talked it over, we understood, and we felt terrible for him.  We forgave him because no other course of action was acceptable.  We forgave him.”

Jack stared at Gwen, then at Ianto, who might have felt it was a cue to add something pertinent, but Gwen’s passionate defence of his actions had touched him so deeply he was, for what felt like the twentieth time that day, incapable of a word.

“We,” Jack repeated.  “We all forgave him?  All of us?”

“Yes, Jack, all of us,” Gwen told him firmly.  “Ianto was forgiven because he deserved to be, and what you’re doing now is appallingly cruel.”

Jack was floundering badly and, as terrible as that was to witness, it was taken as a good sign.  Gwen returned to him, squeezing his hand.  Jack’s focus, however, never left Ianto.

“I…I…  Forgave you?”

“You adore the man,” Gwen reminded Jack, “of course you forgave him.”

“I…”

“Think, Jack.  Think.”

Jack…thought.  After several agonising minutes the present clicked into place.

“Ianto?”

Ianto wasn’t sure what to say or do, but certain words found their own way to the surface.

“Please forgive me,” he whispered hoarsely.

All at once Ianto’s pain showed on Jack’s face, and Jack was rushing to him, gathering him into his arms and hugging the oxygen out of him as he begged for his own forgiveness.

Gwen gave a rather tremulous, wholly grateful sigh at the hint of normality and turned her back on the men to find Catherine observing with disconcertingly objective interest.

“Is this where you say you’re leaving on the first train, or that you can help him?” Gwen challenged, protective streak well and truly roused.

Catherine didn’t give it a moment’s thought.

“When Jack’s ready we’ll make a start.  I understand the need for urgency, but…in his own time.”

“I’ll talk to him.  Or get Ianto to talk to him.”  Gwen turned to find Jack and Ianto in a loose embrace, Jack whispering who-knew-what into Ianto’s ear to produce such vulnerability on the young man’s face.  Gwen looked sharply away, uncomfortable at intruding upon a moment far more intimate than anything she’d happened upon in the past, and that included semi-naked trysts in the hothouse.  “I’ll help you get ready in the medical bay,” she told Catherine, hustling the woman towards the stairs.  “I’m sure, when they’re ready…”

“Now,” Jack’s voice interrupted her.  “Let’s do this now.  While I remember what I’m supposed to be doing.”  Jack came to Catherine and stuck out his hand.  “Captain Jack Harkness.”

“Doctor Catherine Cullen,” the doctor reciprocated, giving his hand a brief shake.  “Sorry I’m here under these circumstances.”

“Me too,” Jack said tightly, forcing a smile.  “Like I said, let’s do it.  What do you need?”

“You.  Candidly and cooperatively.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed, clenching his teeth behind the forced smile.  He took two steps in the direction of the autopsy room.

“Medical bay,” Catherine directed, not waiting for Jack’s response before heading in that direction.

Jack watched her go and turned to Gwen.

“Can’t I just stay crazy?”

“Come along, Captain,” echoed back through the stairwell and Jack, muttering irritably to himself, followed Catherine’s departing voice.

After taking a moment to absorb and appreciate the lack of stress-inducing Harkness, Ianto and Gwen drifted together.

“Did you mean it?” Ianto asked, feeling horribly exposed.

“Oh, don’t you start.”

“I want to know.”

“You do know, Ianto,” Gwen insisted.  “Shit.  I hate that you have to ask.  You don’t have to ask.  Don’t ask.  When he’s well, I’ll kill him.”

“Yeah.  Get in line.”

Gwen paused in thought.

“Who’s Frances?”

Nonono, not going there.

“Someone who used to be attached to Torchwood, I assume.  I was Rowan all the way to work.  Before…  Before he forgot me completely.”

“We can’t take it personally.”

“I know.  I do know.  It’s just…”  However hard he battled to control it, Ianto couldn’t prevent the tremor that found its way into his voice.  “I don’t know how much longer I can carry on like this.”

Gwen hugged him hard.

“Ah, Ianto.  Don’t give up.  We have help now.”

“And you have drugs,” Ianto pointed out.  “I’m jealous.  I want drugs too.”

Gwen giggled as she released him.

“I still have contacts.  I can nip out and score you some crack if you like.”

“Not exactly what—”  Ianto looked down as a chilly hand slipped into his, following the arm along and up to Eleth’s worried face.  “Where have you been?  What’s wrong?”

“There was a person with orange hair.  Orange hair is not.”

“Not what?”

“It is…not.”

“That’s red hair,” Gwen explained, “and it sits upon our new doctor.  Catherine, her name is, and she’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Orange,” Eleth insisted.

“Is that why you’re so cold?” Ianto asked.  “Because you’re scared?”

“Bit scared.”

“Come with me.”  Gwen extracted Eleth’s hand from Ianto’s and led her to the nearest computer.  “You and I are going to spend a few hours pursuing the coiffures of the rich, famous, glamorous and dyed.”  She sat Eleth down and pulled another chair up to join her.  “What’s the magic word?”

“Google!” Eleth exclaimed.

“Her transition to Earthdom is complete,” Ianto muttered.  Gwen gave him a cheeky smile and waved him away.  “Drink?” he offered.

Gwen nodded in the direction of the medical bay.

“Go on.  Just in case.”

Ianto returned the nod; having placed his jacket around Eleth’s shoulders, and refusing to acknowledge the increasingly disturbing wriggle of trepidation in his gut, he made his way downstairs.

Eavesdropping.  Not admirable, but sometimes necessary.  Catherine sounded unfussily efficient, and Jack sounded…  Like Jack used to sound.  Normal.  Ianto hated using mad and normal as referral terms for Jack, but sometimes a spade was very much a spade in its most shovelly of ways, and would be labelled as such.  Labelled, packaged, sealed, stored on the bottom shelf of Sp to Sr; there, sorted.  Fucking manageable.

“I’m as mad as him.”

“Ianto?” Jack called, having caught a glimpse of Ianto outside the door.

Ianto fixed a smile in place and made a bright entrance.

“Yes, hello, what can I do for you?”

“How old am I?”

“No idea.”

“Told you so,” Jack told Catherine.  “If Ianto doesn’t know, nobody knows.”

“That’s probably not entirely true.”

“As good as.”

At any other time, Ianto might have been flattered by Jack’s faith in him, but now it simply rubbed a little more salt into the gaping wound that was the prospect of losing his lover.  He covered his discomfort by examining the array of samples Catherine had already collected: blood, hair, skin scrapings, nail clippings.

“Anything I can help with?”

“The captain is just about to provide a sample.  I doubt very much you’ll want to help with that.”

Knowing the riposte Jack would have supplied in the past, Ianto was poised to cringe, but Jack accepted the specimen container from Catherine in silence, and availed himself of the adjoining bathroom.

“I meant any cleaning, or organising,” explained Ianto.  “I’d help Owen out, keep things in order while he was busy being untidily brilliant.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, you didn’t, not really.  If there’s anything I’m embarrassed by it’s that we’ve let this go on and on.”

“How did that happen?  Why are you taking so long to find new people?”

“It didn’t feel like a priority.  We were coming to terms with our losses.  We were managing.  The Rift has been strangely quiet since the explosions.  I have a half-arsed theory about shock waves, but nothing I can substantiate.  It’s probably just a coincidence, but it’s been a useful one.  Then we were handed this alien corpse and…”  Ianto’s voice trailed off.  He closed his eyes for a few seconds, hiding behind tired lids.  Dwelling on what he wanted.  Who he wanted.  He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.  “It’s about Jack now.  You being here isn’t about rebuilding the team, it’s about rebuilding Jack.”

“You’re together,” Catherine stated.

Ianto blinked a few times and focused on her face, hoping not to see any kind of negative judgement there.

“Yes.”

Catherine gave him a glimpse of a smile.

“I’ll do my best for you.”

“It makes it unforgiveable, doesn’t it?  We’re together, and I’ve let things get this bad.  He kept telling me he was all right, and I kept wanting to believe him.  I’ve been a fool and a coward.  Unforgiveable.”

“Understandable.”

“Really?  Do convince me, please.”

“I doubt anyone can do that.”

Ianto accepted that with a humourless huff of a laugh, and leant back against the counter, staring at the door that Jack had left via.  The sounds of medical pottering were familiar and comforting.

“Gwen said that Jack didn’t used to sleep,” Catherine said as she paused in her note-making, tapping the clipboard with her pen.

“No, he didn’t, not much.”

“Now?”

“He does.  Some days quite a lot.  Do you think that’s relevant?”

“Anything could be relevant.  Any other major changes you didn’t mention?”

“Don’t think so.  I don’t know.  I feel like I made that call a very long time ago.”  Time, yes.  Ianto glanced at his watch and considered sending a search party for Jack.  “I appreciate you running these tests.  You’ll need Owen’s – Doctor Harper’s – reports on Jack: there are some long-standing oddities in his blood you can dismiss from this investigation.  Although…  Do you think there’s much chance that the problem is physiological rather than psychological?”

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

“You won’t hazard a…”

“Nope.”

Another five minutes of waiting, and Ianto was halfway to the door when Jack appeared, pot in hand.

“Done, are we?” Ianto smiled, enjoying Jack’s harassed expression.

“Why is it so difficult when there’s a container involved?”

Ianto buried the smirk beneath a show of general interest.

“We talking about aim, or…”

“Ability to pee, plain and simple.”

“At least you remembered what kind of sample was required.”

“Stool next,” Catherine called.

“Oh…no,” Jack moaned.

Ianto delicately took the pot away from him and placed it upon Catherine’s workbench.

“What would be really helpful,” Catherine said thoughtfully, “is a sample of the soil you were buried in.  Any chance there’s some left anywhere?  In the soles of your boots?  Anywhere you went when you first came out of cryo?  The cryo chamber itself?”

“All cleaned,” Jack said sharply.  “I – we – cleaned everything.”

“Shame.  Two thousand year-old bacteria might have been an interesting challenge.”

Ianto self-consciously cleared his throat.

“I have some.”

Catherine’s head swivelled in his direction; Jack’s followed in guarded anticipation.

“You have…?” Catherine prompted.

“Some of the soil Jack was buried in.”

Jack took a step toward Ianto.  And a stiff step back.

“I don’t know what to ask first,” Jack said warily.  “How?  Or why.”

“How?  There was some soil in the pockets of your coat.  Not much, just…some.  I emptied it out before the coat went to the cleaners.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded, “okay.  So…why did you keep it?”

Ianto thought, and drew a blank.

“I don’t know.”

“You—  You really don’t know?”

Ianto thought some more, and drew a bigger blank.

“I don’t know.”

After a strange pause, crammed with loaded looks, Catherine spoke up.

“Does that matter at the moment?  The important thing is that we have a sample I can test.”

Jack didn’t seem to have heard her.  He retook the step toward Ianto, this time without retreating; Ianto had the appearance of someone praying the floor would find a way to open and swallow them up.

“Have I damaged you so much?” Jack asked.

Ianto shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

“I – I d’know.  I don’t think so.”

It was distressing to both men that Ianto couldn’t answer with a categorical ‘no’.  Jack looked as if someone had kicked him in the gut; Ianto felt as if he’d personally delivered the blow.  Too late for Ianto to start wishing he’d taken more care and lied through his teeth, he mumbled that he’d fetch the soil, and he fled.

…

In the privacy of the closed Tourist Office, Ianto studied the evidence bag and its disturbing contents, and wondered.  Why had he kept the dirt that Jack had been interred in?  Was there no answer, or was there no acceptable answer?  Nothing acceptable to him, perhaps, as he fought against the degree of influence Jack had over his life, consciously or otherwise.  Already on the back foot, Ianto now felt an utter fool.  No sense, and no answers, and…and no…sense.

Moving to the ante-room, Ianto sat and resumed the staring and the pondering.  Tried to recall what was going through his mind when he took the soil and, discreetly if not surreptitiously, kept it for himself.  Of course, should any shock revelations about Jack emerge in years to come, this handful of soil would be regarded as an iconic relic.  That was excruciatingly amusing; Ianto’s chest tightened as he accepted he probably wouldn’t be around to witness the fuss.

And maybe that was what this was all about.  However bizarre, he felt a connection to Jack through the earth that his partner was buried in for so long.  By nature, he wanted – needed – to be with Jack to protect a man who imagined himself unneedful of protection, and when it was an impossibility for him, he would cherish whatever medium had held Jack close in his absence.

Dirt as a surrogate for a lover?

Well…fuck.

Mad, mad, mad, mad, mad.

…

Ianto handed over the bag to Catherine as Jack looked disapprovingly on.  Ianto braced himself.

“Umm…  Can I have that back when you’ve finished with it?”

Catherine nodded, and didn’t, even for a second, look at him as if he were a certifiable basket-case.

“Rowan…”

“Ianto,” Ianto snapped.  “Ianto Jones.”

“Yes, Ianto Jones,” Jack snapped back.  “I want a word.”

Jack bowled out of the medical bay and Ianto reluctantly followed him to as private a corner as they were going to find.  For a few seconds, Jack seemed satisfied with glaring.

“What, Jack?”

“Would you like to explain to me the reason you have for keeping that soil?  I’d appreciate something less than perverse if you can manage it.”

A time for truth?  Maybe not so much.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“No.”

“Have you figured it out for yourself?”

“I think I might have.”

“Then…”

“I’m not explaining anything to you.”

“Okay.  Then, how about…  Get rid of it.”

“No.”

“Rowan…”

“Ianto.”

“Whatever.”

“No.  No, no, no.”  Ianto started to walk back to the bay.  “Until you can remember who the fuck I am I’m not discussing anything with you.”

“It’s me or the dirt.”

Ianto jerked to a halt, spinning around to gape at Jack, open-mouthed.

“Again?”

“You heard.”

“Look…  Forget you know about it, all right?  Should be easy enough at present.  Forget you know.”

“If it’s that big a deal I want to understand.”

“Maybe…  Maybe you’re not the only one who’s crazy.  How does that sound?”

“Pretty awful,” Jack said flatly, bearing in mind the damage he’d apparently done to Ianto.  He closed the distance between them and gathered up Ianto’s hands, squeezing them as he stared at where he and his partner touched.  He and Ianto were so close, yet increasingly distant.  His mind had started to fog, but he was bright enough to recognise, once again, that he was losing everything.  “Please.  Please get rid of it.  If I’m not around, I don’t want that to be the kind of memento you keep to remind you of me.  Please…”  He was stuck on the name.  Again.  Becoming too numb to fight for it.

“Ianto,” he was reminded, a despondently murmured prompt.

“Ianto.”

Ianto took Jack into his arms and held him, letting him drift away to the land of blessedly painless amnesia.

“I’ll get rid of it,” he promised as Jack faded.  “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of it.”

What did it matter if that final assurance was a lie?  Soon Jack wouldn’t remember it or this or him.

…

“It’s sort of…cyclical,” Ianto told Catherine as he watched her work.  “Starts with normal, becomes bad, gets worse, then there’s a – a breakthrough on Jack’s part, a realisation, and he’s himself.  Normal.  Then it happens again.  Normal, bad, worse, realisation, normal.”

Ianto wanted to ask if that made Catherine think of anything in particular, but all of a sudden he wasn’t keen on hearing any answers.  Ridiculous, he accepted that, because he wanted answers, the doctor was here because he wanted answers.  He was saved from having to pursue what he did and didn’t want by the arrival of Eleth with a tray bearing mugs and a sugar bowl.

“Good afternoon,” Eleth said, very formally, well-practised, and with Gwen’s accent.  “I am serving refreshments.”

Ianto gestured for her to put the tray down, and picked up his mug.

“Thank you, Eleth.   Would you like to be introduced to our new doctor?”

Catherine didn’t debate the title, Ianto noted with relief.

“Yes, please,” Eleth replied, stepping up to Catherine’s side and gazing at her hair.

“Catherine, this is Eleth, she came through the Rift and she’s staying with us for the time being.”

“And for always,” Eleth added with cheerful, bloody-minded determination.

“Eleth, this is Doctor Catherine Cullen.”

“Hello,” Catherine greeted her, and Eleth all but vibrated with excitement.

“I like your orange hair.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Is it out of a box?”

Ianto fought down a snort of laughter but Catherine simply smiled.

“Absolutely what I was born with.  Do you have tea?  Two sugars, please.”  Eleth carefully added sugar and brought over the mug for Catherine.  “Thank you.  Now, Eleth, this is important.  We will be friends, but you will not come into this medical bay again.  If you need me you will stay outside and knock on the door.  That isn’t about not being friends, it’s about lots of nasty things in here, and wanting you to be safe, understand?”

Eleth nodded.

“Friends keep each other safe.”

“That’s right.”

“Ianto is my friend.”

“I imagine he is.”

“Gwen is my friend.”

“Yes, Gwen.”

“Jack…”

“And Jack, yes.”

“Rhys.”

“Ah.  Rhys?” Catherine asked Ianto.

“Gwen’s husband,” Ianto explained.  “He doesn’t work with us, but…he knows.”

“I’m surprised.”

“Yes, we were all a bit surprised, if I’m honest.  But it’s by necessity, and amazingly it’s done no damage.”

“Rhys.  Okay.  Now, young lady…”

Eleth dithered between her tray and Catherine.

“What?” Ianto asked.  Eleth gestured to Catherine’s hair.  “Do you mind?” he asked.

Catherine bowed her head and Eleth scampered closer; as if prepared to be scarred for life by the experience, Eleth warily reached out to stroke Catherine’s head.  Deed done, she thanked Catherine profusely, seized her tray, and literally ran from the room.  In the quiet that followed, Ianto waited for the expected response to Eleth’s presence.

“Not good,” Catherine said at last.

“I know.”

“This isn’t a place for children.”

“She isn’t a child, she’s just…tiny.  A tiny, excitable adult who’s enjoying making tea here, rather than having to locate explosives with her bare hands on her own world.”  Catherine shook her head, apparently trying to dislodge the mental image of that scenario, and returned to her work.  “We’re making a nearby house into a hostel,” Ianto continued.  “She’ll be able to stay there.”

“When will that be ready?”

“Soon.”

“Who will she be living with?”

“Nobody as yet.  We’ll keep an eye on her, help her train for work.  Not ideal, but…”

“I’ll live there,” Catherine told him briskly.  “Arrange that, will you?”

“You’ll—  Right, yes.  Yes.”

It wasn’t often that Ianto was completely caught out, but on this occasion he was delighted to be.

…

The last few hours of the day were filled with hurried arrangements for Bruce’s house to be brought up to scratch for Catherine and Eleth.  Gwen was as delighted as Ianto at the prospect of Catherine staying, and being on hand to help with their new tea lady.  Eleth’s initial response was more difficult to gauge: she listened and asked for the same information ten different ways, then dissolved into a bout of keening.  It frightened the life out of the hardened professionals, but the wailing proved to be about happiness rather than misery, and a few of Gwen’s cuddles brought the little alien to a slightly calmer, certainly quieter place.

Rhys came to collect Gwen, and Eleth’s drooling at the description of their proposed dinner ensured that Rhys took pity on her, extending an invitation that was joyously accepted.  Ianto was left semi-contentedly alone in the body of the Hub, and as Jack dozed above him, and Catherine worked below, he chatted online to Thomas Caldwell, unapologetically picking the man’s brain over all manner of technical minutiae.

At least he thought Catherine was working; he left Caldwell with a hasty farewell as the doctor hurried from the stairwell, coat over one arm, sample case in her hand.

“Catherine.  Where are you going?”

“To London.  There’s a lab I have access to, it has the best facilities in the country.”

“But our equipment…”

“Is good, but not good enough.  Not for this,” she indicated the case and its contents.  “Besides, there are people there who can assist me, colleagues I trust implicitly.  Don’t worry, the captain’s privacy will be preserved at all times.”

Panic was not a word Ianto liked to use, but Fucking Hell he was panicking at the thought of her leaving.

“Surely this is immaterial?  I hate saying it, but…  It’s his mind.  How could anyone go through what he’s suffered without…”

“Ianto…”

“I mean, I have considered an alien infection, but we do have records of such things, and nothing matches what he’s experiencing.  And, honestly, dirt’s dirt, we live with it, if there was something in it to affect Jack, why only now?”

“Ianto!”  Ianto shut up, eyeing Catherine warily as she drew breath to speak.  “I have some initial findings that are highly disturbing, and I need to pursue them.”

“Then…  What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying…  I am ninety-nine percent certain that Jack’s been poisoned.”

“He’s—  No, that’s—  Poisoned?  You mean…”

“Not by something in the soil, you were closer to the mark with your alien theory.”

“Poisoned,” Ianto repeated weakly, fears about Gray infecting Jack re-emerging and hitting him like a sledgehammer.

“I’ve been able to isolate all the abnormalities that Doctor Harper catalogued and I’m left with one anomaly that appears to be working as a catalyst and corrupting what are usually harmless bodily chemicals.  The resulting mutations are subverting normal mental and physical functions.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It didn’t come from the soil?”

“I’ve taken skin samples and swabs, and everything indicates that this is something injected or ingested, not absorbed.”

“I did wonder if his brother could have infected him somehow.”

“That’s the one in cryogenic storage?”

“Yes.  Does this mean we’ll have to wake him?”

In the space of a second, while Catherine mulled that question over, Ianto had constructed a bizarre scenario in which their new doctor was actually in cahoots with John Hart, manoeuvring her way to Gray’s emancipation.  Thankfully, he also had time to convince himself what a complete idiot he was being.  Probably being.  It didn’t hurt to stay alert.

“Is he likely to help us?” Catherine asked.

“No.  More likely to kill us.”

Catherine sighed deeply, and pretended not to be studying Ianto’s increasingly twitchy body language.

“Gwen told me the brother wasn’t right in the mind.”

“But not like Jack.  He – Gray, Jack’s brother – was tortured in the past…or possibly the future, whichever it was, when he found Jack he was obsessed with revenge, but he could formulate and carry out a plan, he wasn’t vague, he was focused and…very, very…scary,” Ianto finally admitted.

“Then he can stay where he is for now.  I have to run, I need to catch the train.”

“You think you can find a cure?” Ianto asked as she headed for the cog door.

“I know I’ll try my damndest.”

“What have you hypothesized?  Don’t tell me you haven’t.”

Catherine stopped and turned back.

“We need an antidote, and we need it fast.  At the moment it looks impossible, so please don’t harbour unrealistic expectations.”

“How fast is fast?”

“I’ll have a better idea this time tomorrow.”

“How fast is fast?”

“I have to go.”

“Catherine.  Just tell me.  Educated guess: how long till my partner is a complete zombie?”

“I don’t know.”

“A month?”  Catherine’s expression was telling.  “A week?” Ianto suggested, unable to keep the upset from his voice.

“I’m not sure he has that long,” Catherine said quietly.

Ianto didn’t see her go.  He was blind and deaf to the outside world as the possibilities for Jack raced through his mind, his despair twisting into rage at the thought that someone had deliberately done this.

Gray.  He kept returning to Gray.  Not right in the mind – and that was putting it kindly – but cunning enough to manipulate and torture and seek retribution in whatever way possible.  Even when Ianto tried to take a step back and be objective, Gray stood out as the first and last choice as perpetrator; if Gray had anticipated incarceration of some sort should his initial plans fall through, this is how he would negotiate for his release: his freedom for Jack’s sanity.

Ianto went to his workstation and called up the interface for their cryogenic facilities.  There the bastard was, safe and sound.  With a simple miscalculation, a few tripped safety overrides, Gray would thaw and be left to rot in his makeshift coffin.  Ianto’s fingers twitched as he barely resisted setting those particular wheels in motion.

“Too.  Fucking.  Tempting.”

Ianto prodded viciously at his keyboard, getting rid of the temptation, closing down the station before powering down the Hub.  Almost weeping with impotent fury, he climbed the steps to Jack’s quarters and let himself in, hoping that Jack was awake and sane and perfectly able to talk him down from this emotional precipice.

Awake, yes.  And as Jack leaned blearily up and recognised him, something inside Ianto seemed to twist and shatter.  If he’d been alone he’d have been screaming at the injustice of this entire situation.  But Jack smiled and reached a hand out to him, and all Ianto wanted was to hold on and be comforted.  Mended.

Throwing off his jacket and toeing off his shoes, Ianto fell onto the bed and into Jack’s arms, embracing his partner so hard he was shuddering with the effort.

“What’s wrong?” Jack whispered as he stroked Ianto’s back, and didn’t complain about being squashed.

“Every so often I hate this life.”

“Can I make it better?”

“Not this time.”

Ianto buried his face in Jack’s neck and let himself be soothed by gentle touches, as soothed as he could be with the knowledge of his impending loss battering him.  Before long Jack began to sing, something soft and sweet; another song that Ianto didn’t know, but it sounded like a lullaby, and Ianto was determined to be lulled.

So they remained for an unmeasured time, until Ianto was roused by the persistent rumbling of Jack’s stomach.

“Why didn’t you say you were hungry?” he asked as he reluctantly peeled himself off of Jack and wracked his brains for what was in the fridge.

“Am I?”

“Sounds like it.”

Ianto went to Jack’s kitchen and rummaged; Jack rolled onto his side and watched through the open doorway.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course you can.  Will soup do?  I haven’t had a chance to get anything fresh.”

“Whatever you think.”

As Ianto prepared their meal, opening cans and throwing in a handful of dried pasta to bulk the soup up, Jack reflected.  Ianto suspected his question had gone the way of so many others, but Jack eventually got there.

“Who’s Gray?”  Ianto hesitated to answer, pretending he was too busy.  “Who’s Gray?” Jack persisted.

Some frantic thinking later, Ianto came to the doorway and smiled sympathetically.

“Someone you loved very much, but who’s gone now.”

“Gone,” Jack frowned.  “So I can’t talk to him?”

“Not in person.  I, umm…  I sometimes talk to pictures of the people I’ve lost.  I could find you a picture of Gray if you like.”

“Does it make you feel better?”

“Depends.  How does thinking about Gray make you feel?”

Jack considered that for a long time.  Ianto had served up the soup by the time he murmured,

“Empty.”

“Come and have this.  Jack.  Jack.  C’mon.”

Jack rose in slow motion, and meandered to the little cafe table Ianto had tucked inside the kitchen; there was just room enough for two to eat in reasonable comfort, and Ianto waited patiently for Jack to join him.

“Does it help?  Talking to pictures?” Jack asked as he sat.

“Sometimes.  It can be better than nothing.  But…not always,” Ianto confessed.

“Am I better off without?”

“I don’t want to decide this for you.”  Ianto pushed some bread in Jack’s direction.  “Eat.”

Jack did as he was told, but without any of his usual enjoyment.

“I think I’m missing something.”

“I doubt you mean croutons, so…?”

“What are croutons?”

“Doesn’t matter.  Sorry.  I’m used to being flippant with you.  Now it’s just mean.  Sorry.”

Jack brushed that off with a half-smile and a shrug.  As they finished their food, Ianto talked about work, and Jack didn’t listen to a word of it.  Ianto knew, and didn’t object, because most of what he was rambling on about was pure twaddle and he knew it.  Besides, in a week, maybe less, none of this would matter at all.

Ianto took a long, long time to wash up virtually nothing.  He counted it out rather than let his mind wander: Soup plate.  Soup plate.  Side plate.  Side plate.  Soup spoon…

Jack was showered and back in bed, naked and with the sheet barely covering his modesty, when a fully-clothed Ianto turned down the lights and joined him.

“Hello,” Ianto smiled, shuffling close and leaning in to kiss Jack’s shoulder.

“Tell me,” Jack whispered.

Ianto stared at him and tried to guess.  Simple really.

“Ianto.”

“Ianto,” Jack repeated warmly.  “Ianto.  My Ianto?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt your Ianto, yes.”  Jack’s reciprocal smile became full-blown.  Damn, he was…  “Shall I tell you something?” Ianto asked.  Jack nodded.  “You are the most gorgeous person I have ever known.  I won’t start to apologise for that being totally superficial, because I don’t care that it is, or what it makes me.”

“I like it.”

“I know.  Your vanity has always been oddly appealing.”

“I like it because it keeps you here.”

“Ah, no, don’t make that mistake.  I may be shallow but I’m not stupid.”

“Then why?”

Why…?

“There have been times since I arrived here, when you’ve been the only reason for existing that I have.”  Okay, that hurt, although Jack seemed quite happy about it.  “I couldn’t tell you this if you had more than an inkling of who I am, or if I thought you’d remember a word of it.”

“Why?”

“Because…  I didn’t particularly want to love you.”

“Really?” Jack said sadly.

“It was mutual, you wanted it that way, I’m sure you did.  Don’t feel bad about it.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.  I do love you.  Forget that, and I’ll tell you again.  And again.  I’ll keep on telling you, right until—”

“Until what?  You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“Until…until you get sick of hearing it.  I’m not going anywhere.”

Terrified of what Jack would ask next, Ianto leant in and kissed him to keep him quiet.  This much contact, even unreciprocated, and Ianto felt his mood shift.

“Kiss me back,” he instructed after a few one-sided seconds.

“How?”

Ianto paused.

“Does this feel wrong?”

“No.  It feels nice.  Just unfamiliar.”

Ianto chuckled as he trailed and twirled a fingertip down Jack’s chest.

“Oh, my virgin bride, you have no idea of how tempting you are.”

Jack laughed too, and did his best to return Ianto’s next kiss.

“You can do what you want,” Jack murmured against Ianto’s lips.  “Whatever you want.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I think I want you to.”

“You want to be close, you don’t have to let me fuck you for us to be close.”

“But, what if…”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I mean it.”

“Then what does matter?”

“This.  Us being together.  That’s enough.”

It was, Ianto was relieved to realise.  It was enough.  He rolled onto his back and waited for Jack to follow; within minutes Jack was falling asleep on Ianto’s chest, faintly smiling at Ianto’s own version of a lullaby, letting himself be cajoled into unconsciousness by an endearingly inaccurate rendition of Unforgettable.  That wasn’t, as it happens, Ianto’s idea of a bad joke.  It was more to do with a fondly recalled pre-dawn, post-weevil-hunting, moment of togetherness, when he and Jack danced in the car park to the strains of Nat King Cole on the SUV radio.  Not so long ago, really, but it felt like years.

Jack slept and Ianto, predictably, didn’t.  He almost wished he knew nothing of Catherine’s preliminary findings: he would have preferred to deal with them after a decent night’s rest.  But Jack had been poisoned, and Ianto was certain he knew the culprit.  He soon found himself seething over his inability to act.

“I’d wake him up right now if I wasn’t such a coward.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.  Ignore me.”

Dealing with Gray would be one thing.  Dealing with Jack when he found out what Ianto had done…

“You’d never forgive me, would you.”

Yes.  That was what any present cowardice was about.  Forget the bordering-on-irrational fear stirred by the thought of Gray being up and about – so what if waking the monster was traumatic, he’d deal.  Taking into account the frantic need for revenge that Ianto was experiencing, torturing the information he needed out of that psychotic piece of shit might almost be regarded as cathartic.  But it would mean saving Jack simply to lose Jack, Ianto was certain of that, and he wasn’t prepared to lose him again.

“No,” Ianto chided himself.  “It can’t be about me.”

“Hmm?”

“I have to save you.  From Gray.”

“Gray?”  Jack stirred and his head lifted; he blinked himself half-awake and stared at Ianto, squinting in the darkness.  “Gray?  Is that you?”

The basic ‘Fuck off, as if!’ was quickly stifled, leaving Ianto momentarily speechless.

“Gray?” Jack pressed, growing ever more desperate.  “Gray?”

An idea struck Ianto, a probably stupid, possibly reckless idea.  No wonder he experienced palpitations as he explored it, considering the possibility of playing the part.  Gray.  How could he be Gray?  Ridiculous.  Surely?

“Gray?  Please…”

“It’s me,” Ianto whispered, letting Jack interpret that however he chose, waiting for a telling reaction.

“Gray?” Jack repeated, voice quivering as his hold on Ianto morphed into exploratory touches.

Fingers trailed over Ianto’s face before his jaw was cupped, Jack pressing a breathy kiss to his cheek.

“Where were you?”

Oh…fuck!  Where indeed.

“That’s not important now.  The past is…past.”

Ianto cringed at his own clumsiness, waiting for Jack’s realisation and anger, but…

“How can I let the past go?  After what I did.  After I…”

“I’m here to forgive you,” Ianto interrupted before Jack’s privacy was completely abused, before everything became too painful to deal with.  “I absolve you.  This is the truth, here, now.  No matter what else I ever tell you, this is the truth.”

“Gray…”

“I forgive you.  Listen to me: I forgive you.”

Ianto forced himself to stop there, barely surprised by the fervour in his words as he willed Jack to accept the exoneration he deserved.  Ianto waited.  And waited.  Hoped, even as he inwardly taunted himself for his naivety.  It couldn’t work, of course it couldn’t, it was a ludicrously simple ploy.  Besides, Jack would benefit far too much from accepting these lies and nothing was easy on Jack any more.

But then Jack was shuddering and collapsing back into Ianto’s arms, sobbing hard and inconsolably.  Ianto tried nevertheless, cradling him and whispering loving nonsense, tearfully and irrationally grateful to the toxin that was responsible for making Jack weak and gullible enough to receive and accept his brother’s pardon.  Whether or not he ever remembered this, for a few precious minutes, Jack was guiltless.

The night wore on.  Jack had passed out, exhausted by crying, and the silence gave Ianto more unwanted time for unwanted thoughts.  He’d come to one conclusion though, something to act upon in the midst of all he felt useless over.  John Hart.  If anyone knew what Gray had done to Jack it would be Hart, and Hart would help them, albeit for his own, selfish reasons: he wanted Jack around, he’d made that clear.  However uneasy an alliance it would be, Ianto was determined to find the captain and use the man’s knowledge to restore Jack.  If, subsequently, that made Jack see Hart in a new light, if he chose to revisit the past rather than stay with Ianto in the present…

Ianto stopped himself from thinking about yet another way of losing Jack: it would hinder his efforts and that couldn’t be permitted to happen.  He edged himself out from under Jack, hoping his partner would sleep on, but Jack groped after the disappearing body and roused himself when it proved to be out of range.

“Ianto?”

Not Gray, that was a relief.

“It’s all right, I’m here.”

“Come back.”

“I will.  Later.”

“Where are you going?  Ianto?”

The last thing Ianto wanted was to leave while Jack actually knew him, but he had no choice.

“I’ve got to go home,” Ianto said with the fakest smile.  “Sorry.”

“Why?” Jack asked, starting to sit up.

“No, stay there,” Ianto gestured.  He went to Jack’s side and stopped him leaving the bed, fussing over him and giving him feather-light kisses until he relaxed again.  “There are some things I have to do; there might be post, messages on the answerphone.  I d’know, I just…  Can you remember when we were last at my flat?”  Jack shook his head.  “Nor can I,” Ianto lied.  “I don’t want to visit the place so infrequently that it starts to smell like no-one lives there, I hate that smell.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Don’t be daft, you’re half asleep and…”  Ianto tilted his head and smiled at Jack affectionately.  “Cosy.  Stay in the warm.”

Without argument, Jack allowed himself to relax; his eyes flickered shut.

“I’m not asleep,” Jack yawned.

“Don’t fight it.”

“You know I…” another yawn stole Jack’s words.

Ianto quickly and quietly found his jacket and shoes, before pressing a farewell kiss to Jack’s temple.

“‘Night,” he murmured.  “Love you.”  And he tore himself away.